Letters
by Hopeless-Romantic2110
Summary: A letter. One little letter imprinted on his hand. It taunted him. Everyone was born with one, it's the first letter of your soul mates name, or so they say. AU Klaine
1. Chapter 1: Letters

Soul mate- a person with whom one has a feeling of deep and natural affinity, love, intimacy, sexuality, spirituality, and/or compatibility.

Soul mate. One true love. Other half.

Every person is born with a letter on the palm of their hand, just one letter. Supposedly, it's the first letter of their soul mates name. No one knows exactly why it started, or when, really. It's just there. Growing up, children are often told the most common explanation, in the form of a fairy tale, a story that you tell your children when they start asking questions. When rumors start fly to around the school yard, spilling from 5 year olds mouths in excitement.

It tells of a man, who lived long ago, back when the United States of America was a democratic-republic. Now this man was nothing special, very ordinary, invisible to many, you could pass him on the street without giving him a second glance. He was a successful man, but like many people, couldn't find love. He was heading into his second divorce, bitterly, of course, and had all but given up on the concept of soul mates. After all, both marriages had started out beautifully, and had both resulted in children. He had been.. content. Looking back, he had realized he had never been truly happy with either wife.

From there on, the stories split apart. Some say God had rained down from the Heavens and pitied the fool, others say an Angel, defying Gods command, aided the lonely soul, and soon was cast from heaven to walk amongst his impure creations. Other religions use their specific deity, but every version, in every language, all end the same way, with a letter imprinted on his palm, the first letter of his soul mates name.

Now, you're not just stuck with a letter sketched into your palm forever, in time, the letter fades, unless, of course, you find your match. When you meet them, you might not know for sure, it might not be like those old movies. Your eyes might not meet across the way, you might not feel some magnetic force compelling you over to them, there might not be a magical spark and it might not even be love at first sight. More like love at first _touch_. Whether it's an accidental brush of the hands in passing, of a formal handshake, the moment the contact is made, the first name is completed. Some people don't feel a thing, while other have been known to report a sensation ranging from a slight itch to a short spark or long dull burn. With a name etched across your skin, permanently, after the first encounter, most couples don't even use rings, the name on your hand says enough, that you're taken, in love, and are destined to last. Officially off-limits to other suitors, bonded to one another forever, which is one reasons the tradition of proposal, rings and engagement died out. Why wait if your guaranteed that you're destined to be?

Of course, some couples still go the traditional route, with the proposal and marriage, the whole nine yards. The only difference now is that you can't get a divorce, fallen out of fashion, and eventually became illegal, because people only marry their soul mate, they know this is their one and only.

Destiny- the predetermined, usually inevitable or irresistible, course of events.

Destiny. Fate. Set in stone.

Back in the pre-letter age, very few people believed in destiny. Most just assumed they had _free will_, that they actually had a choice in the matter of love. That the "honey moon" period of the relationship would never die. Those naïve fools. They always end up with a broken heart. And what's worse, they often dragged kids in the matter. Broken hearts and broken homes. It was a time of chaos and misery.

Now, in the post-letter age, people are much happier. There are no misreading feelings, no reason to test the waters or fear falling in love with the wrong person. The letter saves us from confusion. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule.

It's a terrible thing, frowned upon in our society. Nearly all of the people commit suicide, or go into hiding, because they _know_. They know that this person isn't meant for them. But they still fell. Their hearts betray them, but no matter how hard they try, they're fallen. They say you can't choose who you fall in love with. Some even have a child, but these kids are shamed, shunned in the community. Because they weren't destined to be, a glitch in fate's design, a mistake, per say.

The Amiss, that's what those people are often referred as. Whether they fell for the wrong person, or are a lovechild from them, that's their title, and they are forced to be different, an outcast. Left alone in the world, without somebody to love them.


	2. Chapter 2: Amiss

Amiss- wrong; defective.

Faulty. Mistaken. Flawed.

In Facts, they rant on and on about your soul mate. How, once you find them, you'll know. With one touch, your life is changed. And that's that. No more searching. All the nights you spent laying in your bed, wondering what his name was, what he looked like, if he was thinking about what you would be like, would pay off, and all your questions would be answered.

But, if love at first sight it's just an instant attraction, couldn't you be attracted to the wrong person? What if, in the course of life, you do fall in love with the wrong person, why should society tell you it is disgusting? Couldn't fate be _wrong_? That argument has been over exhausted throughout the years, as The Amiss have tried convincing society to accept them. People fell in love all the time before the letters. Of course you can fall in love with someone else, you can fall in love more than once. But we're soon after that is explained, the teachers continue on and tell us that if that's true, then why would fate mess with your head? Why would the great cosmic power give us a letter in the first place, something to look forward to, and something to dream about? If you can love more than once, then why are we limited to loving our mystery letter? One person in a life time? They insist that you would only ever be truly happy with your soul mate. Any other love wouldn't last. That in a year's time, the spark would be gone, and you'd just be left, damaged, broken, with nothing to show for it except a few fleeting memories.

The Amiss are so ridiculously hopeful and persistent. They have been known to ] try to shove their way of life down the lettered population's throat. Like they are trying to prove to society that their mere existence isn't a joke or mistake. Because of this many people go out of their way to avoid them. Like the beggers on the street, they just avoid eye contact and shuffle away quickly.

It's said that before the letter, people ran around cluelessly, and could only dream about finding happiness, but what they often found was a bitter ending, and lonely existence. But now, with your letters, we are all guaranteed eternal happiness. That one day, we'll all find the man or women who would be steadfast, who would always be there at you beck and call. They wouldn't leave you, or intentionally hurt you. Your perfect other half.

Love at first sight - An instantaneous attraction to someone or something.

Attraction. Appeal. Captivating.

When I was sent home that night, with an escort of course, as I myself was only eight, I wondered into the living room and plopped down in front of my father's chair. I parked myself there for a few moments, gathering up all my courage and finally glanced up at my father, who in turn was watching me. Hesitantly, I asked my dad about her. About when they first met. If, when her first saw her, he was caught off guard. If he knew he loved her then.

He was out with a few of his college buddies, it was a Friday night. He explained to me with a wistful look in his eyes that when she walked into the room, he was instantly distracted by her. Her chestnut brown hair, her toothy smile, the way her eyes seemed to glow in the florescent lighting. And before he knew what he was doing, he found himself next to her, introducing himself. He knew. He knew that this was his soul mate. He could feel it in his gut. He stuck his hand out, still a little dazed, and when their palms touched, he felt a spark, and he swore that he could see a knowing gleam in her eyes. She later confessed to him how she hoped there would be a name when she pulled back, for she hadn't felt the same spark as my father.

He pulled back, and saw the most beautiful name he'd even seen. Elizabeth. Her name was imprinted on his hand, forever. She just looked down and smiled, it took his breath away.

She asked him to dance, and they danced the night away. Song after song, with her head nestled on his shoulder while they whispered questions to each other. He learned so much about her that night. Her favorite color was coral. She was an amazing singer, a voice like an angel he said. She loved kids, and was studying to be a teacher.

She wasn't at all like he had pictured her, but she was so much better, because she was real, and amazing, in her own way. Although her hair wasn't jet black or straight as a stick, her eyes weren't piercing green, and her name wasn't Emily, she was still everything he'd hope she'd be. Instead, he fell for a curly haired brunette, with gorgeous baby blue eyes and a stunning smile.

Eventually they made their way out of the bar, his buddies long gone after just one look from Burt. She climbed into his red pickup truck and found a clearing where the sun was just peaking over the dark sky. They laid there; legs tangled, and watched the sunrise. After the sun had chased away the last traces of darkness from the sky, he figured he'd better get her home, so they started to leave, but she stopped him, and turned him around. He gasped at the beautiful sight before him. There she stood, right in front of the freshly risen sun, and for a second he thought he saw a golden ring floating a top her head. She looked like an angel, he was sure he must have been dreaming.

He knew, he'd lost his heart to her, but it was okay, because he received her in exchange.

**AN: Thank you! In about 6 hours I had 130 Hits and 119 Visitors! And as for the whole "Kurt meeting Blaine" we'll get there! Next chapter maybe?**


	3. Chapter 3: Hopeless Romantic

**AN: Lucky you! You guys get two chapters in one day! This is actually tomorrow's chapter, because I won't be here to post it! Hope you like it!**

Hopeless Romantic- in love with the thought of being in love.

Sentimental. A Dreamer. Head in the Clouds.

I was only 8 at the time, but after I heard my dad's love story, I was changed. I was becoming more and more focused on when I would find my other half. I had fallen hard. Not for a person, per say, with the thought of falling in love with a person. I wanted to have my own love story, I wanted my happy ending.

Of course, being the young age of eight, that didn't happen. But something else did. Something huge, something that would change my life forever. Yes, Eight is a fragile age. Even so, if I were ten years older, Twenty years, this news would have hit me just as hard. It knocked the breath out of me. I could feel my innocent, naïve heart breaking.

She had been out grabbing some ice cream, because ice cream fixes everything in eight year olds eyes. I had fallen off my bike, and had cried and cried. It was a only skinned knee. It barely broke the skin. If I had known, I would have bucked it up and taken it like a man. If I had known that my hissy fit would cost me so much I would have just settled the Disney classic she had promised to sit down and watch with me until I forgot why I was even crying. She would have sung along to every song, her angelic voice echoing through the house. Dad would have stood at the door way, with a small smile on his face, just content to be listening from a distance. But I didn't know, and by this time I had been sitting at the couch for over fifteen minutes and was getting impatient, I just wanted her home already! Finally, I huffed and jumped off the couch to find my dad, wondering if he knew what was taking her so long. I had just slightly crossed under the door frame into the kitchen, and froze when I caught sight of my dad. The phone slipped from his hand, landing haphazardly on the countertop he was leaning on. His face portrayed the shock of the news, like someone had just slapped him in the face and walked away.

"Daddy?" I said quietly, almost afraid of what he would say, because I couldn't imagine what would make him look like that.

That snapped him out of it. He looked down at me, and plastered an obviously fake smile on his face, but I couldn't tell it was then, of course. He moved to stand in front of me, and crouched down next to me. He opened his mouth, but before he uttered the words, his face betrayed him and I saw the sheer pain that flash across it as he stuttered out six words. Those six little words were the start of my downward spiral. Because what he told me next broke my heart.

"Your mom's not coming home, kiddo." He said, and paused for a split second before pulling me into a bone crushing hug.

"What?" I asked, voice muffled from his signature flannel shirt.

He took a shaky breath, before he said "Your mom's been in an accident." He let out a strangled sob, "She's... She's dead. She won't be coming home." And then he just lost it, broke down on the kitchen floor, crying on my shoulder.

My body probably would've crumpled on to the floor, if my dad hadn't been there holding on to me so tight.

"No…." I said slowly, and quietly as reality began to set in.

It couldn't be true. She couldn't be gone. That's not a happy ending! They were supposed to live happily ever after! I started to shake, I had to get away. I started screaming, and pounding my fists against my dad's chest, desperate to get away.

"No, no, no, no, no, no! That's not what supposed to happen! NO!" I screamed at the top on my lungs.

I finally broke free of my dad's grasp, his fingers reaching out after my retreating form. I ran to my room, flung open the door, and scrambled to my bookcase. Tears were still streaming down my face. "This can't be happening…" I muttered.

Fumbling a little, my arms raked across the shelf, sending my books crashing to the floor. They tumbled to the ground, and the sound set my dad running. When he found me, all he saw was his little baby, sitting in the middle of ripped papers and destroyed books. They lied! Fairy tales don't come true! Happy ever after's didn't happen! I didn't want the constant reminder of the happy endings that never came in my room, mocking me.

I wasn't a hopeless romantic anymore. I was just hopeless.

Reluctant- unwilling; disinclined:

Afraid. Cautious. Unwilling.

Picking up the pieces from that traumatizing day was a dozy. We were never quite the same. Even now, nine years after the fact, I can still see the pain in my dad's eyes whenever he hears her favorite song. That day changed the course of my life, I'm sure. I was protesting against society. Against love, against the stupid letter that was seared into my palm in swirly cursive. I avoided it like it was the plaque, even saying the word, or anything related to it, left a bad taste in my mouth. Don't get me wrong, I was happy whenever my friends practically floated up to me, gushing about meeting their soul mate, I put on a polite smile and wished them the best, because I knew I would have to be there if anything went wrong.

What I didn't understand is why, if fate was being oh so kind, by throwing us a bone about our soul mate, did they think that they should suddenly rip it all away and break up his family? Why should they give his dad all he wanted, and tear it into pieces and stomp on it?

My dad tried to help me, he really did. Brought me to all the meetings, hell, he even paid for a psychiatrist, but I refused to open up. I was trapped in my own stubborn, broken hearted head, unable to break free. I didn't need a shrink. I wasn't broken. I was finally seeing clearly.

But when he entered my life, I was thrown off course, and started losing control. I knew he was the one, my mystery man. It hit me, like, well like a 5'9 man slammed into me, because that's what happened.


	4. Chapter 4: Enchanted

**AN: So.. I've rewritten 3 of the 7 chapters so far. This chapter is the only one where I changed the scene entirely. I felt that the story was moving too fast how I wrote it last time. I can't finish rewriting it all tonight because I have work in the morning but I promise anything you have read before **_**will**_** be in the story, at some point. I'm just trying to make it more realistic and less "I hate love. Just kidding, you're hot so I love you."**

Enchanted – to subject to magical influence; bewitch

Enraptured. Stunned. Entraced.

The air was dry and brittle; the wind stung my face relentlessly. I shoved open the door to a local coffee shop, The Lima Bean, I think. My eyes cast the floor and my nose buried in my scarf, relieving most of my face from the horrible wind. He had been walking out the door, holding a coffee in his hand, while I was headed in. And then suddenly, I wasn't cold at all anymore, I was burning! The idiot had spilled his coffee on my Marc Jacobs' jacket!

"Oh my- I am- I am so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going!" he exclaimed, stumbling over his words a bit.

"Obviously! This is my new Marc Jacobs' jacket!" I retorted, huffing with anger.

"I am so sorry! I was totally out of it right there! Oh gosh, let me get that." and he tugged me into the small shop, grabbed some napkins and started dabbing at my coat. "Can I buy you a coffee? To make it up to you?" He pleaded, warily.

I finally looked up at him, preparing to turn him down, when I froze, even before the words hit my lips. It was the first time I looked him in the eyes, and my anger drained right out of me. I was staring into a hazel pool, swirling with concern and regret.

_Just look away. Break eye contact and turn him down. He could be the one, you can't go throwing yourself at him, you can't fall in love with him! Remember mom! And poor dad, left all alone, without love! Do you really want to risk the heartbreak?_ My brain resisted, urging me to refuse.

"I-" I abruptly stopped, my voice an octave too high, cleared my throat, and started again. "I can't, thanks for the offer but I really have some place to be." Sarcasm slipped into my voice unintentionally but the end.

"Oh, okay. I understand." His hopeful expression dropped, and he cast his eyes to the speckled tile adorning the floor. "I really am sorry though, I wasn't watching where I was going. I hope I didn't ruin your fancy jacket." He finished, glancing at my coffee soaked self.

"I'll do some experimenting, but I'm sure I can get it out. This isn't _the first_ time someone has bumped into me with coffee. Although I do think you are the first one couldn't use seeing straight over top of me as an excuse." I pulled a small smile to show I was kidding, and I saw him do the same.

"Haha, very funny," He said in a mock-bitter tone. "So, I'll see you around I guess? I was kind of headed somewhere."

"Oh, yes," I muttered as I stepped aside. "I'll see you around."

As his form retreated, I caught myself grinning and glancing after him. I had to force my eye to return to the coffee shop, but just before I did, he paused at the door. Hazel met glasz, and a small smile crept onto my face even as I turned around and went about my normal business.

Crush** - **to press or squeeze with a force that destroys or deforms.

School Yard Crush. In-Like. Daydreaming.

Over the next few days I found myself referring to my mystery man as Hazel, for lack of a better defining trait. I guess Curly, Handsome, or Stunning would have worked to, but those seemed to imply I liked this guy. I mean yeah, I thought about him when I went to sleep. When I woke up. And I often found myself chasing him out of my thoughts while daydreaming through my boring school lessons, but that didn't mean anything, right?

He was just something to take my mind off of actually learning. I couldn't have focused if I wanted to, the classroom was in complete chaos, but our teacher, Mrs. Valhailan, had already given up, her attempts proving to just rile them up more. It was a few weeks away from winter break and the teachers all tried, but it's hard to convince a room full of seniors that calculus is important with the holiday's right around the corner.

I was probably just building him up in my head, I had decided. Like the other kids did with their letters. I found myself wondering more than once what his name was. If his letter was a "K" written in the same curly font as my own. Thoughts like those were the ones that scared me the most, but once I started, I couldn't stop.


End file.
